Red Tape
by Isolith
Summary: A short alternate take on the infamous red tape episode.


**/RED TAPE/**

 _Summary: A short alternate take on the infamous red tape episode._

 _A/N: I have wanted to write this since the dawn of time, just saying. Also, it's a bit sappy I think. ;) Anyways, just a little one-shot thing to get myself reacquainted with writing these idiots._

…

When the world throws you for a loop, Andrew Flynn feels it is better to force ahead with bravado than lag behind with caution. And so he did when he started working in the same department as his wife – albeit not the same division, thank heavens. It usually never ends very well for him. Bravado comes in handy in his line of work when dealing with dangerous people and locations. It is an integrated essence in him. However, so is the knack for pissing off the wife.

More often than not, his decisions in life end up as a cautionary tale for similar complex scenarios further down life's road. But he always forgets the lessons learned. And as such, he knows his way around the downstairs couch and how to tuck in the bed linen properly so it doesn't slide off during the night.

Braving the lioness's cave, he fully acknowledges that it is his own hide on the line, and still, it excites him. The kids have thankfully left the nest a while back, otherwise it would probably be the silent treatment – or heaven forbid; the angry glares over dinner until that escalated into who could shout the loudest.

The house is completely empty or so it seems. Andy is damn certain she is hiding somewhere, just waiting for her prey to return home.

She can be so damn vengeful and devious - almost diabolically so. Of course, he rather likes it this way. She holds her grudges close to her chest and lets her revenge fall on the most unsuspecting of times.

"Honey, I'm home," he calls out with a rogue grin displayed stupidly on his face. He puts his badge down on the kitchen sink and his eyes wander to look up the stairs and towards the upstairs bedroom.

…

Andy purposefully watches the back of his wife walking away from her precious red tape. Provenza stands glowering by his side, his entire body almost vibrating from anger. Andy's eyes flick down over the back of her behind. Inwardly, he curses the dark trench coat for covering too much.

"Geez, what an absolute bit-," the older man starts.

Andy quickly intervenes, "Hey watch it! I'm the only one allowed to call her that."

His partner glares at him, "You know…" he says while turning towards him, "I still cannot fathom how you put up with her."

To Andy, it is actually the other way around. Most of the time he cannot fathom how she puts up with him. If they lived in a world of logic and reason, she would have left him years ago.

"Easy, peasy," Andy tells his partner with a crooked smile, "she's all mellow after sex."

The older man screws his face up in plain disgust, obviously horrified by that image.

"Flynn," he growls in warning, "I don't want to hear about _that_."

Andy shrugs, secretly amused whenever he can annoy his partner, "Well, then refrain from calling her anything but Commander O'Dwyer."

Provenza rolls his eyes, "You are the one who coined the phrase 'the wicked witch'."

"She likes it when I say it."

"Pah," Provenza turns around, "I'll never get the hang of your marriage."

Andy smiles, "It's pretty simple to understand; I annoy her, she annoys me. Our annoyances even out."

In reality, it was more a journey of heartache, love and forgiveness, but Provenza would never understand.

…

"Oh there you are," Sharon Flynn greets him, coming down the stairs, her facial expression devoid of anything that could resemble annoyance.

Andy squints and then waits, patiently watching her descend; the causal cardigan and jeans instead of the more straight black pantsuit shine like a beacon of intimacy.

She smiles and comes up to him, her eyes dancing with light. Her mouth is warm against his cheek, "We are all alone tonight, no one's popping by or anything. And I just finished my 72-hour cycle, so all done with work as well."

He arches an eyebrow, still surprised she hasn't ripped into him yet. Well, even though she could be vengeful, she also had a knack for forgiving him. Like a professional compartmentalist, she adheres to a strict balance between off-duty and on-duty.

Andy smiles and brings her closer with a hand at her waist, his lip seeking out hers in a soft greeting kiss.

"So, all alone huh," he repeats.

She hums.

"Unless you are called out again," she says.

"Unless some idiot decides not to follow police procedure," Andy adds.

She smiles, "Fortunately, you are off work, so the odds of that happening are nil."

"You wound me," he pretends to feel distressed.

She ignores him and instead goes into the kitchen for a glass of water.

"You know, you are all they talk about these days at the office," Andy tells her backside.

She seems distracted.

"The chief was beside herself when she figured out we are married."

She turns around, "Really? I thought it was pretty common knowledge."

Andy shrugs, "If it's not homicide, she's not interested."

Sharon smiles even larger, "You know you have been an ass, right?" she finally lets it out but the tone is affectionate.

Andy stalks closer to her, eyeing how many buttons on the cardigan he will have to dispense of before he can take it off her.

"Well, you are never around when I defend your person," he strikes back.

"How inconvenient for you," she replies with another affectionate smile.

"I like to believe you'll let bygones be bygones?"

"And I'd like to believe you wouldn't poke a sleeping dragon in the eye," she gives back.

Andy shrugs, "You are one beautiful dragon though."

Her eyes narrow.

Andy leans in close and kisses her right on the lips.

"What's for dinner," he asks, trying to change the subject.

"It's your turn," she says.

"It was my turn last time."

"And now it's your turn again," she simply states.

Andy shakes his head with a smile, he doesn't mind. Sharon has many talents but the culinary art is not to find amongst them. Often he would rather make dinner himself. He opens a cabinet or two and bestows the fridge with a quick look.

"Risotto?" he asks her, watching as she goes into the living room, her attention now on her phone.

"Sure," she says absently.

Risotto it is.

"Ricky's going to be home this weekend," she tells him over her shoulder before her eyes are once again on the phone, concentrated on typing a reply to their son no doubt.

After closing the cabinets and fridge, Andy pulls his tie off, rolls up his sleeves and goes to join her on the couch. There's no need to start dinner yet.

"You do remember you are booked all of Saturday?" Andy reminds her.

She turns to give him a scathing look, "I think our son can manage to entertain himself for a day Andy, and yes, I do remember that we have plans for Saturday."

"Just checking."

"Are you going to tell me what it is now?"

"Nope. Wouldn't be a surprise then would it?"

She sighs.

"C'mon here," he says and gently prods her to move closer to him.

She puts the phone down and eases into his embrace.

Andy is immediately submerged in the unique scent from her, a scent he associates with coming home. He kisses her hair.

"Don't worry," he tells her. "Saturday will be great. I have it all planned out."

"I'm not worried," she doesn't sound convincing.

"You seem tense," he says, letting his fingers massage her shoulders lightly.

"I haven't slept properly in some time," she yawns and then puts more of her weight into his embrace, her eyes closing in appreciation when he dwells deeper into the muscles of her shoulders.

"How about a real massage, huh? I'll get the kinks out and then you can snooze till dinner?"

"You are a godsend," she says with a wide warm smile, already out of his arms and marching upstairs, her hand in his as she drags him with her. "Even if I know that massage comes with ulterior motives."

Andy grins wolfishly to himself. She knows him too well.

"Ulterior motives?" he pipes up, pretending this is not one of those conversations they flirt around with occasionally as a way of foreplay.

"It's okay," she says to him, "I have ulterior motives as well."

"You do?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Pray tell me, what would they be?"

"To get you into bed with me," she giggles, opening their bedroom door and sauntering off into the middle as she lets go of his hand. She spins around and then keeps eye contact as she starts to strip her clothes off.

Andy goes in search of massage oil, keeping an eye on her as she removes layer after layer to reveal his half-naked wife. His hands find the bottle of their own in the top drawer of their nightstand, the location of the oil is committed into memory.

"You are as beautiful as the day I met you," he tells her, watching as she crawls across the bed and lies down on her stomach, "If not more beautiful."

She mumbles something into the bed, her voice content.

Ten minutes into the massage and he knows she fast asleep, her body limp beneath him. Andy covers her with a blanket, kisses the top of her head and then goes to prepare dinner. The poor thing hasn't slept in 72 hours. If it wasn't for his empty stomach, he would have joined her.

"Andy," she mumbles as the bed dips when he tries to quietly slip off.

"Shh, just close your eyes, darling."

"Okay," she mutters sleepily.

In all the imaginable, and unimaginable, universes, he still does not quite believe he gets to keep her. For that, he is eternally thankful every day.

…


End file.
